


And Still, He Lingers

by Goblinbrigade



Series: Stand By Me [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, Nightmares, Noctis Lucis Caelum Lives, Older Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum, Panic Attacks, Prompto and Noct are married I guess, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Prompto Argentum, Transphobia, Trauma, a lot of fluff at the end, don't ask how I don't know, it's only one line but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21793276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goblinbrigade/pseuds/Goblinbrigade
Summary: You never realise just how much something affects you until it's over. For Prompto, the nightmares come rarer and rarer with each passing year. And still, the fear, the self-loathing, the trauma one journey wrought on not just his body but his mind as well, lingers.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Series: Stand By Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575655
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	And Still, He Lingers

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted some angst but I also wanted a happy-ish ending.
> 
> Not gonna lie, after writing this I now high key wanna make a series of Prompto and Noct just being husbands. Will I ever do that, however? Who knows.

The ground is cold and the restraints against Prompto’s wrists hurt like all hell as he squirms, his eyesight barely accustomed to the darkness that has left him with nothing but his ears to rely on.

 _Gods_ , where is he? How did he get there?

Blond hair falls over his eyes, his skin feeling puffy and sore—from crying or was he attacked? Honestly, it could be either option, but he isn’t willing to check. It doesn’t matter anyway.

He has to get out; get back to Noct and the others. Surely, he’s needed, surely, he’s a valued member of the team. Surely, they wouldn’t hate him. Right?

“Oh, dear boy,” Comes a horrible, slithering voice from somewhere in the dark, as if reading his mind and drawing forth every little fear Prompto has. Footsteps, echoing around the room as if it’s endless, a low, spine-chilling, laugh sending the hairs of the back of his neck standing on end, and only when he feels a hand creeping over his shoulder does he realise he doesn’t have the strength within him to run. “You truly believe your little friends will accept you? Even after finding out what you truly are?”

Though Prompto can’t see, he slams his eyes shut regardless, whimpering and praying for someone to take him away from the nightmare. He can hear another laugh, right by his ear, and recoils away from it as if it would save him from the hands holding him in place. “They’re not like that. They wouldn’t care where I come from,” But even his protests sound weak to his ears, and he can do little but shiver as he feels a gentle caress across his cheek.

“Wouldn’t they?” Comes the reply, that hand stroking into Prompto’s hair as if the touch of a lover. “Do you truly know them? Do they truly know _you_? Your dear friend Noctis did try to kill you after all.”

Suddenly he’s on that train again; running away from the angry young man with his blade drawn. And then he’s pinned, a sharp pain pressing into his neck as he faces the glare of one Noctis Lucis Caelum. His best friend. His…

And then he’s falling, eyes filled to the brim with tears as he watches Noctis’ shrinking form on the train he just got pushed from. A part of him thinks he must surely deserve this; clearly, he wasn’t good enough and, after all, he was never from Lucis in the first place. He was, after all, a phony from birth.

Who in their right mind would trust someone who masqueraded as a man?

When he finally opens his eyes all he sees is white; the cold snow sinking into his bones as he simply lays there unable to move. A terrifyingly familiar face looms over him, that all-too pleasant smile feeling fake on his face.

“He was the one who did this, wasn’t he?” The question is soft, almost calming, but Prompto knows better than to trust the honeyed tones of the man. And yet. When Ardyn kneels down, he can feel that hand in his hair again, and chokes back a cry.

Because he is right, isn’t he?

“He pushed you. Isn’t that proof enough that he doesn’t want you?” Ardyn is right, Prompto’s mind supplies, relenting on the point so easily it almost scares him. Feeling the tears practically freezing in his eyes, he can do nothing but slam them shut again against whine.

He can’t do this.

He can’t.

He—

“Prom?”

Prompto is awakened with a gasp, his eyes sore and body covered in sweat as he shivers in place for a moment, his mind suddenly flooded with a heaviness that washes over his body like some kind of wave. The metallic taste of blood floods his mouth, pain shooting through his head as if it’s been put into a vice. There’s a pressure behind his eyes, his skin feeling feverish; simultaneously hot and cold.

It takes him a long time—too long, perhaps— to realise the hands that are on him, how he’s cradled against a sturdy chest with gentle lips pressed to the back of his neck amidst whispers. He can’t quite make out the voice at first, can’t process what it’s saying, but before too long he can just make out the comforting coos that are being murmured into his ears.

“I’m here, Prom, I’ve got you,” The voice says, groggy and tired but undoubtedly _there_. Hands caress across Prompto’s chest, tracing the surgical scars and all the lean lines of his body as if to remind himself that he’s there too. Somewhere in his own confusion, he notices the cold metal of the ring on the man’s finger.

Noctis.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Prompto can only choke out apologies as he sobs into his husband’s arms, the confusion and fear still lingering at the forefront of his mind. He feels as if Ardyn is still somewhere in the room with them, watching and waiting and playing his sadistic little games. Noctis only shushes him with kisses, the fuzz of his stubble scratching against his skin.

“Shh, it’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore, he’s gone,” Noctis maintains his composure, the picture-perfect image of a king even here. Were Prompto in a better state of mind he would probably tease the man, who would only scold him with a laugh. That thought calms him somewhat, at least enough to realise where they are.

In bed. Safe. As far away from danger as they can be.

Only later, when Prompto has finally calmed enough to simply lay there and bask in the embrace of the man beside him does he let out a sigh. “I’m sorry,” He says for the final time, tracing the lines on the palm of Noctis’ hand—lingering for perhaps a tad too long at the ring on his finger. Quietly, he notes the amused little huff against his hair.

“Stop apologising,” Noct grunts, a little chuckle smothered by a kiss. Prompto makes sure it lingers just enough to make his husband quiet, entwining their hands together as if attempting to become one with the man. It’s not an overly salacious affair—their days of fucking like rabbits are well and truly behind them—but that isn’t what he’s looking for in that moment. He only pulls away for a moment before pressing forward once more, then again, and again, before simply nuzzling into the crook of Noctis’ neck.

For one, brief, moment, amazement filters through his mind because—wow. Prompto Argentum seriously got hitched to Noctis Lucis Caelum.

It’s almost too much to contain with just the smile alone.

With a shiver, Prompto lets out a happy little sigh as he feels a hand rub up and down his back, lingering at his shoulders to massage into the tense muscle he finds there. After a long moment, Noctis speaks once more, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“You already know the details,” Prompto grimaces, hearing the hitch in his husband’s breath. Anger, he realises, but it isn’t directed at him. Still, the man controls it well enough. “I seriously thought the dreams were gone, y’know?”

Noct hums in agreement, “Yeah. But even if they never really go, I’ll be here to calm you back down.”

“I know,” Prompto replies. And he does. Despite all the fears he’d had when he was younger and desperate to please anyone who gave him the time of day, now he knows better. He isn’t always great—some days bring more fears than others—but he knows, if nothing else, that Noct is there to stay.

It’s the least he can do after all they’ve been through together.


End file.
